A Certain Lady Part 4

By Old Iron

Arizona worked silently in the bathhouse awaiting the arrival of the convoy sent over from Everett. The relief team consisting of Mutsu and two destroyers, Teruzuki and Akizuki if she remembered correctly, had rendezvoused with the fleet some two days ago. After that it had been little more than a waiting game for everyone else on base. A rapid deployment battle-group had been assembled in the event something went afoul, but thankfully they had been blissfully bored out of their minds.

She had hung her greatcoat on one of the coat racks by the entryway as she carried out her orders from Admiral Richardson. Resting on a hook just next to it was her combo cover. There was little sense in doing cleaning and general busywork with her entire kit on, so she had smartly set them aside. And in accordance with what she had been advised of Japanese bathing customs, she had removed her shoes and left them by the rest of her accouterments. Socks included.

Richardson had passed down orders to the effect of ensuring that the bathhouse was well and ready for the returning fleet's shipgirl contingent and to then assist upon their arrival. A genuinely menial task, but a task handed to her regardless. And one of the things she had sworn to uphold to her utmost was the completion of her duties. Even if those duties included picking up scattered bathing implements. It would seem whomever used these facilities last did not do due diligence in cleaning up after themselves. Her eyes narrowed in irritation as she knelt down to retrieve an errant hairbrush.

Arizona would need to have words with command about this.

As the copper haired battleship continued performing her tasks with a sort of methodical grace, she thought back to the past few days. For not more than four days ago, she had been little more than a rusting hulk at the bottom of Pearl Harbor.

Now? Now she was a flesh and blood human being. One with hair, eyes, hands, feet, and what have you. But at the same time... she was thirty thousand armored tons of American standard battleship. With twelve fourteen inch cannons and a not insignificant array of five inch guns to boot. She even had torpedoes.

Upon the eve of her summoning, she had experienced something for the first time that her crew and so many more did on a daily basis. She had partaken of a meal. And not just a serving of rations to be eaten on her own. No. She had dinner with her admiral and her superior officer in the mess hall amongst the cheering and revelry of the soldiers stationed on base. There had supposedly even been a good number of the base's assigned shipgirls present, but she could not for the life of her tell at the time.

There had been very little in the way of probing and informing, something she had been most thankful for given her abject confusion at the time, but rather she had mostly observed Mutsu and Admiral Richardson's back and forth while occasionally stealing a glance at the crowds.

All the while stuffing her face with dish after dish after dish.

Apparently the cooks had been given a heads up that if the summoning had been successful, they were to start prepping the most stereotypical All-American eats they could manage. Hamburgers stacked to the ceiling. Barbecue made in all manner of style. Hot dogs bearing toppings that spanned the country. Steaks and sandwiches. Fries, onion rings, and tater-tots. Milkshakes bearing whipped cream, sprinkles, and even the much sought-after cherry on top.

And the pie...

Arizona would certainly remember the pie most fondly. Hot pecan pie with a helping of vanilla ice cream.

Oh, she had done her best to eat with the poise and grace of a proper battleship. Demolishing every morsel of food before her with a true and genuine display of dignity. But it was sometimes difficult when you were still not entirely certain everything happening was real. Certainly not helping was when Mutsu had reached over to wipe a dollop of whipped cream from her face and then proceed to lick it clean off her finger. She had not appreciated either Mutsu's or Richardson's laughter at her reaction.

Mutsu had not stayed long after the festivities began winding down. The Japanese battleship needed to be underway for meeting up with the convoy and had departed with a smile, a wave, and yet another teasing remark. This one directed at the admiral. She hadn't quite gotten the reference, but apparently it was enough for Richardson to adopt a rather irate expression. It didn't last long and he had bid Mutsu safe travels before she slipped out the door.

As Arizona set about placing stacks of fresh towels in the appropriate receptacles, she held one of the smaller ones up and frowned. It reminded her somewhat of Mutsu's skirt. At least in what it could, or could not, conceal. That strip of cloth which attempted to pass itself off as a genuine article of clothing irritated her to no end. Had it been Mutsu's choice of casual or party-wear, Arizona would have paid it far less mind. She'd seen the short, revealing, and generally scandalous attire worn by the flappers of her era. She'd seen people wear far less even.

But Richardson had informed her the next day that such a shameless attire was no less than Mutsu's duty attire. Not a proper length skirt or slacks with jacket following the regulations of the JMSDF. No. Mutsu had decided that she would dress in a manner far more befitting a dancer or some sort of scarlet woman when she was on duty. Did she have no shame? No proper respect for her station or the fact she was a proud Japanese battleship representative of both ship class and her country? How not every single person with a set of functioning eyes had not seen what she wore for whatever might pass for undergarments was some sort of miracle.

Unfortunately for her hopes in regards to proper dress, Mutsu was not the only one to shirk regulations. If it wasn't something absolutely scandalous then it was something far more appropriate for a costume party. She granted a bit more leeway to the younger ships, but not much.

She'd been forced to tell herself that it was a different era, a different culture, and a very different sense of sensibilities.

Arizona could only pray that the inbound USS New Jersey dressed appropriately for her station. Both for propriety's sake and her own sensibilities. As one of the most powerful battleships ever produced by mankind and as an icon of American naval might, the second of the Iowa-class was held to a higher standard by the last Pennsylvania-class.

A horn sounded out from the comm on the wall and returned her train of thought back to her immediate duties.

"Arizona-san, Kongou-oneesama is on her way back! They'll be here in thirty minutes." Hiei's energetic voice filled the air. The excitement was palpable enough that Arizona would swear she could physically feel it through her uniform. The hyperactive fast battleship had enough energy at any given moment to rival an entire pack of destroyers. Even more-so if the topic at hand involved her elder sister, Kongou.

"I'm ready for them." Arizona stated after walking over to the intercom and pressing the transmit button. There was a short pause as she recalled something. "Lieutenant, where is Yeoman Jintsuu?" She could not wrap her head around how to properly pronounce either either the rank or position of her Japanese allies, so she was forced to settle for the english equivalent. The last time she attempted, she'd very nearly bit her tongue off. And she rather liked having that intact. Thank you very much.

"Ah, well... She's not feeling well. As in, really not feeling well." There was a slight sheepish tone to the fast battleship's voice. It soon vanished and was replaced by her usual bombastic self. "But she'll be just fine real soon. I'm going to make her some of my famous porridge and she'll perk right up!"

The line went dead before Arizona could open her mouth to reply. She offered up a silent prayer for Jintsuu's wellbeing. If Hiei hadn't made the poor girl ill to begin with, then she was certainly going to extend the recovery time.

Hiei, and her sisters from what she had gathered, were all... unique. That was the nicest way she could put it. Mad as a box of frogs was perhaps a better description, but she would hold off painting them with the same brush until she'd had a chance to meet them all. Hiei was a good girl though. Completely bonkers, but still a good girl. She could definitely use a bit more strictness in her life however. But her devotion to her sisters, Kongou in particular, was perhaps second to none so far as she could tell. Arizona could appreciate that sentiment. Perhaps if she ever had a chance to meet her own sister someday she might share in some of it as well. Within appropriate reason of course.

Surveying her handiwork, Arizona made certain nothing had been missed. And to her expectation not a single thing was out of place. She had also made ready the first aid kits just to be absolutely certain she had covered all her bases.

From the reports radioed in, Kongou's detachment had fared quite well. Scratches at best. However it was New Jersey's group she was more concerned about. The flagship had taken considerable damage to her superstructure to the point of having had a large portion of her secondary armament knocked out and her radar completely demolished. There was no lethal damage, but it was not insignificant either. Adding UNREP to that almost guaranteed the Iowa-class was going to be sailing in far worse for her wear. Even accounting for damage control.

USS White Plain would be another story altogether. No real damage, if any, from combat. However it sounded as though the escort carrier had pushed herself so far beyond her capabilities that she needed to be towed in. Damaged or outright wrecked machinery from stress rarely ever set well without a full examination and overhaul. She might compare it to someone attempting to run on a broken leg.

Perhaps the only silver lining to be had from the state of the convoy's combatants was that the destroyers had fared exceptionally and would need only a short stay in the baths, a hot meal, and good night's sleep to be back in tip-top shape.

Arizona set her jaw and went to retrieve her accouterments. The shoes and socks would be removed again soon, but she would not run around barefoot while she waited. It took only a few moments for her to be fully adorned once more.

She adjusted her combo cover in a mirror, making sure it sat just so and that the brass upon it retained its polished luster. Making a few last minute adjustments to her handkerchief were all she decided that remained before she walked into the foyer of the bathhouse to wait. If Hiei said thirty minutes out, then they were thirty minutes out. The girl had a knack for timing that contrasted sharply with her goofy antics. If it weren't for Richardson's temperament, Arizona ventured that Hiei might be serving as his Yeoman instead of Jintsuu.

Arizona took one glance at the clock on the wall and snapped to attention. Mulling about would be a waste of energy, so she had opted to simply exercise her patience and wait.

It had been twenty five minutes since Hiei's announcement, so she did not have to wait very long.

When the doors exploded inward, one of them barely hanging on by its hinges, Arizona got her first look at the American task force. She was dumbfounded to say the least. Albeit ludicrously well hidden.

These were United States Navy destroyers? They looked more like cruisers spoiling for a brawl than any destroyer she had ever seen. If it wasn't for the open worry and concern for the other two USN ships that had walked into the room, she would dare describe them as thuggish.

She trained her eyes on the tallest and most imposing member of the group and bit back a gasp.

To say that USS New Jersey looked bad was quite an understatement. The woman's clothes had been shot to shreds, exposing vicious looking wounds that dripped oil and blood onto the floor. Not to mention the poorly hidden fact that a fair portion of New Jersey's face was simply missing. No manner of sunglasses could hide that. She'd been stripped of her dignity and then had her superstructure brutalized. Arizona forced down her ire in favor of taking care of the far more important matters at hand.

USS White Plains was a third her displacement at best. But it still felt as though she was carrying something far smaller and far more vulnerable. It did not matter what sort of doom she could visit upon her foes. To Arizona, she simply appeared as an utterly exhausted and hurting child at the moment. The smile she gave to New Jersey the best she could muster at the moment. It was hardly her best overall, but she still had to offer some form of reassurance to the battleship that went beyond words.

As New Jersey staggered out of the bath house, she turned to face the destroyers who had all trained their eyes upon her and White Plains.

"This way." She began walking towards the bathing facilities proper, making certain not to jostle White Plains too much. "There are baskets to put your clothes in and Admiral Richardson has made certain to have swimsuits supplied as well. I'll show you more as we get settled in."

Arizona would ensure these girls were well taken care of. It was her duty and she would perform it to her utmost.